31 Days of Sherlock
by EventHorizon6
Summary: A bunch of one-shots pertaining to Sherlock. Warning: Some spoilers from season 3! Day 3: In which Sherlock has a birthday.
1. Day 1: The Letter

_**31 Days of Sherlock**_

**Day 1: The Letter**

"John?" Sherlock called out, but received no response. "I asked if you could pass me my phone!"

Still no response.

Sherlock sighed when he remembered that John had left the flat an hour ago on a date with Mary.

"Don't mind me, I'll just get it myself," Sherlock complained, despite the fact that no one could hear him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone, beginning to scroll through the messages people had left him about cases. "Boring. Boring. She's having an affair. Not your real cat. Boring. Boring. Boring –" Sherlock stopped suddenly in his reading when his eyes came across something very peculiar on his website: The Science of Deduction. He frowned, not remembering having written an entry titled: Dinner. It had been ages since he'd posted anything there at all. Most people were interested in John's blog. Tapping on the link, he pulled up the entry.

"Let's have dinner." – IA

Sherlock stared at those words for what felt like an eternity. Time felt like it was slowing down and speeding up all at once. He could feel himself slipping into his mind palace, into memories of The Woman. Memories he kept bottled up inside himself so they would not interfere with his work. When he had finally composed himself, he typed back:

"I'm not hungry." – SH

For a while Sherlock just stared at those six words on the screen, trying to deduce why she had decided to contact him after three years of no communication. At last another comment popped up beneath his own.

"Let's have dinner." – IA

Sherlock could feel himself drifting again, his mind numb and unable to focus on anything but memories of their time together. He stood, suddenly, from the couch he was sprawled across and snatched up his violin. He would not respond, or return her flirtations. He stood in front of the darkened windows of 221B as he tuned his violin and began to play. It was a song he had composed a long time ago.

Later that evening as John and Mary climbed the stairs to the flat to pay a visit to Sherlock before they returned home for the night, a peculiar sound reached John's ears. As they approached the door that would lead them into the sitting room, John froze.

"John, what is it?" Mary inquired, touching his arm. John shook his head.

"That song…I haven't heard Sherlock play that song for years."

"What does it mean?" Mary frowned. John didn't respond as he pushed himself into to the room to witness Sherlock stopping in the midst of his playing and turning to observe the two of them.

"Oh good, you're back," he said, setting down the violin and taking up a place at his computer. "John, I need you to take my phone and contact Phil Gruner, then I'm going to need you to go to Bart's and find me three plastic syringes," he ordered, typing rapidly on his laptop.

"Sherlock," John started, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Were you…composing?"

Sherlock stopped typing to look at John with an innocent expression.

"Yes, now Gruner, John, please."

"You were playing that song."

"What song?"

"The song you wrote for –"

"Ten milliliter syringes would be lovely, thank you," Sherlock interrupted, keeping his eyes fixed on the computer screen. John smirked and shook his head as he picked up Sherlock's phone to contact a Phil Gruner. When he turned on the phone he realized Sherlock was still logged onto his website.

"It was a lovely tune," Mary was saying to the detective over John's shoulder.

"I hope you didn't eat the pasta, they have terrible pasta," Sherlock responded.

"You don't even know where we went!" Mary scoffed.

"Antonio's. Wasn't a difficult deduction. It's obvious John had the salmon with a seasoning that only Antonio's uses on their fish," Sherlock prattled away.

John tuned them out as he stared down at the comments on Sherlock's website.

IA.

Irene Adler was back.

**A/N: Soooo this is a little test run I've decided to do because I really really love Sherlock and have always wanted to write some fan fictions for it but could never decide what to write about. So I found these prompts online and I'm going to give it a go. I'm not very good at writing Sherlock fan fiction, it's really hard, but I want to practice and get better at it. **

**Also this may have some spoilers from season 3 as is apparent in this first little entry. I know technically Irene Adler's comments weren't a 'letter' but I couldn't think of anything better to do and went with it. And I know it's unlikely Irene would walk back into Sherlock's life, but what the heck? Again, still practicing here. Please accept my apologies if this first entry was not so great. **


	2. Day 2: Sticks and Stones

**Day 2: Sticks and Stones**

Sherlock stared long and hard at the words in front of him. An anonymous sender. The seventh day of that week and thus the end. Always at the same time: ten o'clock in the morning. Sherlock had sat down at that spot and had not moved until the clock struck ten and sure enough, when he refreshed the page there it was; the same email with the exact same words.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up to see John still dressed in a bath robe, his hair a mess. His brow was furrowed as it usually was when he was concerned.

"Hmm, yes?" Sherlock hummed, staring at John expectantly.

"I asked if you wanted some coffee," John replied.

"Yes, black, two sugars," Sherlock requested and returned to staring at his message.

"Are you feeling okay?" John inquired, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," came Sherlock's quick response.

"Well, you're not usually this quiet. What are you reading?"

Sherlock leaned back just enough for John to take a look. The doctor frowned as he attempted to understand what the message meant.

"Sticks and stones, Mr. Holmes, may break many bones." – Anonymous.

"What do you suppose that means?" John asked, stepping back.

"I don't know," Sherlock steepled his fingers. "I've been receiving these messages every day at exactly the same time for seven days now."

"That's a bit disconcerting," John mumbled. "Have you tried emailing them back?"

"Look at the address. It's automated, set up like spam," Sherlock waved him away before suddenly getting to his feet causing John to step back. "Whoever is sending these does not want me to respond. There must be something. Some sort of pattern," he growled as he began to pace. John took another look at the message and frowned before he felt his phone buzzing in his robe's pocket. He ignored Sherlock's ramblings and complaints behind him as he checked his texts.

"Well, those messages are going to have to wait," he finally spoke up. Greg texted me just now. He says he wants our help for a case."

"Greg?" Sherlock stopped to echo.

"Lestrade," John cleared his throat, remembering Sherlock never could seem to recall the Detective Inspector's first name.

"Where?" Sherlock asked already pulling on his long coat and tying the familiar scarf around his neck.

"The National Antiquities Museum."

"Tell him to text me the details on the way over."

"Hang on, I'm not even dressed!" John complained, realizing that Sherlock was off to the museum with or without him to find either someone who was in trouble, or someone who wanted to cause trouble. In any case, John did not feel comfortable making Sherlock go alone.

"Then get dressed," Sherlock shrugged. "And do be quick."

Ten minutes later, after John had properly freshened up for the day, he and Sherlock were stowed away in the back of a cab on their way to the National Antiquities Museum.

"Just like old times," John muttered as the taxi pulled up to the front. Sherlock didn't waste one moment as he was already out of the cab and halfway up the stone steps. "I'll just pay then?" John grumbled under his breath as he paid the cab driver and chased after Sherlock. It didn't take them long to locate Lestrade in the midst of another chaotic crime scene.

"He was murdered, nobody knows why or with what. I'll give you three minutes, I'll need anything you've got," Lestrade greeted them as he led them to the scene of the crime. The security guard was lying flat on his stomach on the wooden floor, quite close to the antique skulls in their cases. Sherlock had a momentary flashback of when he had been pursued by the 'Spider' – a Chinese acrobat part of a smuggler's organization known as The Black Lotus.

Sherlock took a careful step toward the body. No blood. Internal bleeding. The hint of a dark bruise just noticeable beneath the man's long sleeved shirt. Arm twisted at an odd angle: broken. On duty between ten PM and midnight. Sherlock walked around the body, searching. Traces of a scuffle, black shoe marks on the floor. The folds in his shirt wrinkled, cinched closer together around the shoulders – similarly with his pants and the fabric around his ankles.

"Got anything?" Lestrade interrupted.

"John," was Sherlock's response letting the doctor know it was his turn to examine the body. John knelt beside the corpse and pulled back the sleeves on the shirt enough to see the angry red bruises. Sherlock studied the radius of the bruises when John felt the man's arm with his gloved fingers.

"Yeah, I'd say this man was bludgeoned with a blunt instrument. He possibly died of internal bleeding due to the same blunt instrument hitting him in the chest or back. He could have ruptured a kidney or the liver. His humerus is fractured and the radius and ulna broken," John concluded as he got back on his feet.

"But nothing in this museum's been touched," Lestrade argued. "Why would someone sneak in here and bludgeon a security guard?"

"And one not under threat," Sherlock muttered as he searched the surrounding exhibitions. "He was held down, that which is obvious due to the wrinkles and dirt on his shirt and pants. That means there was more than one involved. He walked in on the killers and witnessed something he shouldn't have. You can tell by their shoe marks on the floor. The fight began here, but there are traces of dirt here and no mud on the victim's shoes. This goes to show that the killers entered from that entry and the security guard from this one."

"So what were they after? And what killed him?" Lestrade crossed his arms.

"The weapon is most likely a cricket bat, judging by the radius of the bruises," Sherlock responded. Lestrade moved off to explain to the other officers what they were looking for as Sherlock wandered closer to the area where he was sure the killers entered. There was one glass exhibit closest to the entrance and that was the skulls. Sherlock took a closer look at the antiques, his eyes moving rapidly, desperate for a fingerprint or a misplaced artifact or –

Sherlock froze.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John questioned as he saw the detective hesitate.

"The dust," was Sherlock's quiet answer.

"Sorry?" John echoed as he came closer.

"John, when you look in this case, what do you see?" Sherlock straightened back up. John cleared his throat and gave his friend a disapproving look. Again Sherlock was about to show off his deduction skills while simultaneously insulting John's own smarts, but the doctor didn't have the heart to argue and went along with it.

"Skulls," he replied.

"And?"

"That's it. Sherlock, just tell me already," John complained.

"These four skulls, all authentic."

"Yes…and?"

"The fifth is a fake," Sherlock replied, already spinning on his heel and sweeping from the room leaving John to follow after with questions of his own.

"How can you know that?"

"The dust around the skulls. All have the same pattern of dust on the surface around them. They've been sitting there for a long time. It's not a lot of dust, and virtually impossible to see. The only reason it's there is because it is the dust that settled inside the case from when the skulls were first placed –"

"Get to the point, Sherlock."

"The dust around the fifth skull is smeared in a pattern that suggests someone moved that skull recently. We're looking for a thief, someone who nicked an antique object and replaced it with a fake one," Sherlock finished.

"Well that sounds familiar," John mumbled, once again recalling the smuggler mystery he and Sherlock had solved. "The case of the Skull Snatcher; sounds interesting."

"Finally something fun to look forward to. Now only three questions remain: Where is the real skull? Who are our killers? And are you going to end up using that as a name for another blog entry?" Sherlock concluded, staring down at John.

"It's catchy," John defended himself. "Besides, people read my blog. Where do you think all of our clients come from, Sherlock?"

"They can't all follow your blog!"

"No, but a good majority of them do. So now we know the skull is a fake, what do we do?" John asked as Sherlock pulled out his phone, a smile growing on his lips.

* * *

"John!"

No response.

"John, we're out of milk again!"

Sherlock slammed the refrigerator closed wondering where John had disappeared to now. He was no closer to solving the skull snatcher case than he had been that morning. He sent a couple texts to John telling him to come back to 221B, but the doctor didn't respond. Sherlock sighed as he slipped into his armchair about to reach for his violin when his laptop on the table beside him twitched. Sherlock turned his head to see a new message in his inbox. He took up a seat in front of his computer when he realized that the email was sent from the same address of the anonymous sender's.

Sherlock clicked it open as a small video feed appeared. The screen was completely black, but heavy breathing was evident in the background.

"It's good to see you at last, Mr. Holmes. I hope you've been receiving my messages," the smooth voice began.

"You're the anonymous sender," Sherlock stated, staring hard at the black video feed and realizing that the man was using Sherlock's built in webcam to see his face.

"A good observation, but let's get down to business. As much as I would like to continue chatting, time is of the essence," the man cleared his throat. "I need you to listen carefully. You must have seen the body at the museum then already?"

"Yes, child's play," Sherlock answered, his face unreadable.

"Then you understand, Sherlock, that to solve this crime you're going to have to go deeper down the rabbit hole," the voice chuckled and continued when Sherlock didn't respond. "In return for safety, you are going to have to give me something."

"Safety from what?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"The better question is safety for whom. If you want to see that John Watson lives you're going to have to give me a little present."

Sherlock swallowed.

"And what's that?"

"The remains of the Roman commander Augustus now on display. A full skeletal set is worth more to me than any simple skull.

"The entire murder was a rehearsal to get my attention, then?" Sherlock answered.

"No, the murder was completely accidental, but it did do the trick, I think," came the man's voice. "You have a week, Mr. Holmes, to retrieve that skeleton and bring it to the abandoned warehouse on the river. You know of where I speak. If you give any indication that you've relayed this information to anyone else, John Watson will die. I have my ways of monitoring. So what's it going to be, Holmes, your reputation, or your friend's life? Choose carefully," the man finished as the video feed ended and Sherlock was left staring at a blank email screen.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing texting me awake at midnight?" John demanded as he stormed into the sitting room moments later. He glared at Sherlock was staring, immobile at his computer screen. "Sherlock?" John repeated as the detective finally snapped out of his daze.

"Right, we're out of milk," he said. John's look became murderous then.

"Out of milk? You texted me at this hour because we're out of milk!?"

"Yes, I need it for an experiment," Sherlock stood up, fixing his suit as he walked into the kitchen.

"You might recall that you used up the last of the milk for your latest experiment," John snapped.

"Yes, and your point is…?"

"For God's sake, I'm going to bed, don't you dare wake me again, Sherlock, or there will be hell to pay!"

Sherlock listened as John stomped back up the stairs to his bedroom and shut the door. For a moment the detective's calm demeanor slipped.

_"What's it going to be, Holmes, your reputation, or your friend's life? Choose carefully."_

Sherlock Holmes was about to become a criminal.

**A/N: Oh god I got a little carried away with this one, and it's not even good! ARGH! I'm not good at writing Sherlock fan fictions, but I am determined to continue through the horrible stages so I might later improve! I know this ends on a bit of a cliff hanger, do not fret, it will continue in another prompt later! It's just…so hard to write Sherlock crimes. I've never been good at making up crimes, and Sherlock is so…above and beyond, I really can't get on his level. **

***makes meaningless angry noises***

**Okay, so now that that's out of my system, let me get to more important matters…**

**Special Thanks goes to: scifinerd4lyfe, alicemitage, and luckyirishlass98**

**You guys rock, thanks for reading! Soooo sorry that these are not living up to what you might have expected.**


	3. Day 3: Birthday

**Day 3: Birthday**

John hated it when Sherlock demanded he pass him his phone. It was almost always within Sherlock's reach, and sometimes the detective was even cruel enough to demand John drop what he was doing in the next room so he could reach inside his coat pocket and move it to his hand.

This was one of those days.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, you can get it yourself!" John snapped as he boiled water for a hot cuppa in the kitchen. It was always dangerous working around Sherlock's toxic waste dump of a fake lab. John was in no mood to attempt to make lunch by examining every surface for harmful chemicals.

"This case requires all of my mental energy, John, I cannot waste it on silly things like getting up to retrieve my phone," came Sherlock's dry response. John entered the sitting room to glare at Sherlock sprawled out across the couch.

"It's right there, on the table beside you."

"Yes?" Sherlock drawled as if he was trying to understand John's point. At last the doctor let out an irritated breath as he marched across the room and snatched up the phone. Sherlock had his eyes closed and his hands pressed together – deep in thought. John was just about to toss it onto the detective's stomach, when he saw who had sent the text.

**Happy birthday, Sherlock, dear! – love your mummy and dad :-).**

A smirk graced John's lips then as Sherlock held out his hand and John slipped the phone into his palm.

"Sherlock…" John began after a moment's hesitation.

"Hmm?" the detective hummed, not quite listening.

"You never told me your birthday was today."

"What?" Sherlock asked, his eyes shooting open as he stared at John. "Irrelevant information, John," he waved him away and closed his eyes once more.

"Irrelevant? Sherlock, it's your birthday!"

"Obviously."

"Well, it's supposed to be special. Don't you have any plans or –"

"But how could he have murdered his sister?" Sherlock interrupted as he got to his feet and pushed past John to begin pacing the flat. "How, John? You were there, it doesn't make sense!" he complained, turning around to face John, expecting his partner's usual commentary only to find John smiling at him in a very odd way. "What?"

"It's your birthday," John said slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Yes, it is, and irrelevant as I said, now about the case –"

"Sherlock, your birthday is not irrelevant!" John argued. "It's supposed to be special. Didn't you plan to do something…I don't know…fun?"

"This is fun, John."

"Yes, solving a double murder is definitely fun," John muttered sarcastically. "Sherlock, I meant something special for you. Didn't you plan to at least tell me it was your birthday?"

"Why? So you can prattle away about it like you are now?" Sherlock asked.

"So I could at least wish you a happy birthday," John huffed, crossing his arms.

"Dull," Sherlock sighed, as he swept into the kitchen. "John, I'm going to need you to run to Tesco's and pick up some vinegar."

"What for?" John rolled his eyes.

"An experiment."

"Should've guessed," John muttered as he grabbed his coat. On any other occasion he would not be pleased to do Sherlock's shopping, but he figured it was an excuse to get the detective something special for his birthday. "Fine, anything else?"

"…Tongues from Bart's morgue?"

"No."

And the door slammed behind him.

* * *

Sherlock and John took the steps up to their flat two at a time as they tried to catch their breath. Once they entered the dimly lit sitting room, Sherlock was immediately studying the pictures he'd taken of their recent case pinned to the mirror above the fireplace.

"We were this close, John, this close," the detective growled as John put his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. They had recently returned from chasing down a murderer who had managed to evade them by blocking their passage with a bunch of garbage bins.

"Right," John coughed, lifting his arm to smell his jacket. "Right." He'd be scrubbing the stink off of him for days to come. While Sherlock babbled off deductions about the murderer and where he might have gone, Mrs. Hudson came up the steps behind John and gave a light knock on the doorway.

"John, dear, are you ready?" she grinned, her eyes twinkling. John blinked remembering his plan.

"Yeah, yeah, bring it up, Mrs. Hudson," John smiled as Mrs. Hudson ducked back down the stairs and Sherlock spun around.

"We know he's targeting victims based on their lifestyles. He's moving his way up the pecking order, trying to reach the highest level of security, but why? Why?" Sherlock messed up his hair.

"Sherlock –"

"What place could have the highest level of security?"

"Sherlock –"

"He's going to –"

"Sherlock!" John elevated his voice. Sherlock snapped him a look. "You know it's all fine and dandy that you've got a new case, but just take one night off. It couldn't hurt." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak when Mrs. Hudson came into the kitchen and set down the enormous chocolate cake with the red candles burning bright. She and John both were smiling wide as Sherlock stepped into the room to examine the cake.

"I didn't ask for a cake, John. This has nothing to do with my experiments."

"Sherlock…" John sighed, shaking his head as Sherlock took a moment to read the fine frosted script.

_Happy Birthday Sherlock!_

Sherlock froze.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock dear," Mrs. Hudson laughed as she came to Sherlock's side and gave him a one armed hug which Sherlock did not return.

"Thought we'd plan something a little special for your birthday," John grinned, looking at his friend who hadn't moved. "Your birthday is not irrelevant, Sherlock. It never has been, so go ahead and make a wish."

"What?" Sherlock asked, finally managing to unstick his tongue. "A wish? Don't be ridiculous, John."

"Just blow out the bloody candles already," John groaned as Sherlock hesitated before blowing out the candles. John and Mrs. Hudson both clapped and congratulated him as Mrs. Hudson bustled about setting down plates and beginning to cut the cake into slices.

Sherlock had frozen once again.

"Sherlock, are you feeling okay?" John frowned, watching his friend closely. Sherlock swallowed before he cleared his throat and fixed his suit.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"Are you sure? Because if the cake's not your favorite I can get another one. I wasn't sure if it would be alright, you were so against us celebrating earlier anyway," John rambled when Sherlock cut him off.

"It's…fine," the detective whispered.

"Well go on, dear, what piece do you want?" Mrs. Hudson smiled. "The birthday boy gets the first pick."

"I'm not a birthday –" Sherlock began his tone harsh, but one look from John silenced him. "The corner piece…" he relented as Mrs. Hudson dished him up a slice and handed it to him. John watched as Sherlock drifted into the sitting room to curl into his armchair and begin taking small bites of his cake.

"Listen, do you think he's alright?" John whispered toward Mrs. Hudson as she fixed the two of them their own plates.

"Why wouldn't he be?" she chuckled.

"He seems…off about this whole birthday business. When was the last time he celebrated his birthday?"

"I don't know. I never even knew today was his birthday," Mrs. Hudson shrugged as John took his plate and joined Sherlock in the sitting room.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just that, I thought it would be nice to celebrate your birthday. Do something special, with friends," John began. Although Sherlock's face was unreadable, he could see Sherlock's throat bobbing as he tried to swallow something more than the cake. At last Sherlock stood up and set down his plate. Without bothering to explain what he was doing, he left John and Mrs. Hudson behind before sweeping into his room and closing the door behind him.

John stared at Mrs. Hudson who shrugged in response. The doctor sighed and rubbed his face when he heard the door at the end of the hall creak open once more.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index," came Sherlock's response before the door clicked shut once again.

* * *

The next morning, John waded through their mess of a kitchen, making himself some toast while Sherlock stood in front of the mirror once again trying to understand where their mystery murderer would strike next.

"This is a bigger plot, John. An assassination."

"Hmm?" John frowned, staring at the cake still left on the table. It was covered in plastic wrap, but something seemed odd about the cake's color and shape today.

"Our murderer isn't just a murderer, he's an assassin, but who is he working for…?" Sherlock voiced his thoughts as John took a closer look at the cake. What he saw made him jump back with a yell.

"Sherlock!" he cried. "There are worms in the cake!"

"Yes..."

"Why are there worms in our cake!?"

"It's an experiment. That cake you bought has the closest texture to soil. I'm testing to see how long the average earthworm can survive in a climate similar to dirt in color and texture but being a completely different substance," Sherlock drawled. "Now about the case John –"

"Get rid of it!"

"What?"

"Get rid of it right now!"

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm really pleased to see my thoughtfulness has paid off," John snapped as he reached for his coat, forgetting his toast.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from your stupid experiments and murder mysteries," John spat and was halfway out the door when Sherlock called him back.

"John!"

John hesitated.

"I…thank you," Sherlock whispered. John turned to face him and gave him a look. Sherlock stood there still in a bathrobe, looking rather vulnerable.

"You're welcome. The cake better be gone by the time I get back, Sherlock," John cleared his throat heading down the stairs when Sherlock shouted at him.

"We need more milk!"

It was good to have some normalcy back.

**A/N: I have to say that it was very hard to capture Sherlock's character in this one. But when isn't it hard to capture Sherlock's character? He's the hardest character I've ever had to write about in fan fiction before! Ugh! Also I really can't come up with experiments Sherlock would do so I apologize if the ones I try to invent are rather…lame…**

**Anyway, yeah, don't have much to say about this chapter. Enjoy! **


End file.
